Ruins
by village bicycle
Summary: New York. The Big Apple, the city that never sleeps … now? The city of ruins. It's been lying outside the country of Panem for over forty years. But now, it might just be time to put the ruins of New York City to good use – in the 43rd Annual Hunger Games. Who knew NYC would turn into a killing ground? Though in Panem, the people have learnt to expect the unexpected ... 1 SPOT OPEN
1. Prologue

Carisa Bescott stood in ruins and rubble.

She frowned and bent down, picking up a rock from beneath her feet, but it crumbled between her dark-skinned fingers before she could examine it properly. She huffed.

A voice from behind her – her husband – asked if there was something wrong. She replied, "No," and forced a smile. "Just thinking." That part was true, and when he kept talking, she was barely listening at all, except for the occasional snippet.

"Then he said … of course I … but it was so … really, it … and then the … so I said … District 4 … this year's Games … Flickerman is …"

Carisa nodded along and pretended she was listening. Her mind was far away from her husband, and much closer to the crumbles at her feet. An idea sparked, growing fast in her mind, and then she had it. She turned abruptly to face her husband.

"We're going, Jiaro," she said briskly, then marched past him and headed back to where their car waited. Jiaro stared after her in bewilderment, scratching his temple with bejewelled fingernails that glinted in the harsh glare of summer's sun.

* * *

Voices grappled for Carisa's attention as she went through the crowd, eyes glittering with admiration for their Head Gamemaker. She would be proud and pleased with the attention, but she was used to it after years and years, and she had more important business to get on with. She was nearly at the president's home, where Peacekeepers saw her and went to her sides, warding off admirers to let her through Snow's gates.

"What is it?" Snow asked, upon her arrival in his office. "I have work to do." He looked up from the papers he had been examining. "If you have something to say, say it fast. If it's not important, get out."

"I have an arena," she said, and the impatience in his eyes faded to cold curiosity.

"Well," he said, standing slowly. "Do tell."

* * *

**I edited this chapter after looking back on it. God, it was disastrous – why didn't anybody **_**tell**_** me? I had to go this whole time with a crappy prologue. Gah.**

**Here's the tribute list, for all interested:**

**District 1**

_Girl – Diamond Cutter, __**Captain-Random64**_

_Boy – Glimmerick Lockhart, __**Asami Sato**_

**District 2**_  
Girl – Riley Sickle,__** The Knife Throwing Expert**_

_Boy – Eclair Hatsmiku, __**Danceposh**_

**District 3**

_Girl – Sloane Overton, __**Squintz**_

_Boy – Giovanni Valencia, __**Lunarwolfhunter**_

**District 4**

_Girl – Kalinna Steele, __**Callie the Career**_

_Boy – Zanther Grimms, __**Bloodreddeathgoddess**_

**District 5**

_Girl – Alexa Sparksmith, __**Burwellbrown**_

_Boy – Chord Le'Ron, __**Northeastchild**_

**District 6**

_Girl – Tigress Star, __**HGvsHG**_

_Boy – Gaso Sedax, __**village bicycle**_

**District 7**

_Girl – Heather Madison, __**MrsHutcherson16**_

_Boy – Claude Steed, __**Finnicklovr4ever**_

**District 8**

_Girl – Carmilla Meadows, __**MissFiyeraba**_

_Boy – Nicholas Atkinson, __**RIPRueFinnPrim**_

**District 9**

_Girl – Barlee Brewer, __**TGHG**_

_Boy - __Pitterin Vereday, __**Mattii16**_

**District 10**

_Girl – Kiden Tuesday, __**Squirrel-Punter-6829**_

_Boy – Lupus Sands, __**TheOtherLachance**_

**District 11**

_Girl – Kisa Kelbert, __** .CoffeeO.O**_

_Boy – [__**vacant**__]_

**District 12**

_Girl – Jasmine Khean, __**Fernlight**_

_Boy – Chace Arkose, __**Avenueey**_

**Hope to see you with the next chapter!**

_**And someone please fill District 11's free spot!**_


	2. REAPINGS - Part 1

**Hi everyone! I am **_**so**_** sorry about how long this first one took, but I got caught up with school, then holidays, and I still had to chase down countless characters. **_**But**_** I've made it my goal to complete the reapings by the end of the holidays, and school restarts on the last day of January. I've got over one third done!**

**Anyway, here you go. Make sure to leave a review! … Please? :)**

**Sorry for errors, in advance. I was determined to finish this before I went to bed and it's now 2:30am and I'm positively dead, so editing wasn't on my ultimate list.**

* * *

**DISTRICT 1**

* * *

"What an idiot," Diamond scoffed, scowling. "Honestly, she can't be serious. _Everyone _knows I'm volunteering this year."

"I know, Diamond," one of her friends said, shaking her head. "It's so stupid. We, like, totally verbally abused her, and she didn't even listen!"

"God, someone needs to bash some sense into her." Diamond rolled her eyes. "We should say she tried to kill me to get me out of the competition. Make the Peacekeepers chop off her tongue and make her an Avox." Her friends all laughed.

"We so should!" one chimed.

Diamond shrugged and sighed, getting to her feet and brushing off the back of her dress with her hands. "I guess we'll see what happens. But Pearlita's not taking my crown from me unless she wants to fight me for it."

"You're so gonna win the Games, Diamond," one of the girls said admiringly, as they all stood with her. "You're the best fighter there is. Like, you girls have all seen her with swords, right?" The speaker sighed and linked arms with Diamond, playing with a strand of her hair. "I wish I was as talented as you."

"We all do," another of the girls said solemnly.

"She's great with a bow and arrow too!" another chirped up. "Her aim is fan_tast_ic."

Diamond smiled proudly. "Thank you girls," she said, flipping back her golden hair. "But I'm really not that great! You should all run along, join your families before the reaping."

A few of the girls bid Diamond goodbye, but others stayed back, sullen at the thought of leaving. "We don't wanna go, Dime!" one complained. "Can't we all go there together?"

Diamond rolled her eyes. "I'm going with mine and Topaz's families," she said, "and you girls don't have an invite." Annoyed, she grabbed Topaz's arm and walked off, head high. Her posse of friends weren't even upset – that was just how Diamond was. And they worshipped her.

* * *

"How can they worship her?" Glimmerick said with a curled lip, shaking his head. "She's daft."

"But she can fight, and she's fighting with you this year," Glimmerick's father said disapprovingly. "Tolerate her for now. It will help you later on. Trust me when I say she's not as dumb as she seems."

Rick rolled his own eyes. "I know, Father. But you have to admit it. She's such an idiot! If she's not a valid fighter I'm snapping her on the spot."

"Glimmerick," chided his mother, Shimmer, in a soft tone. "Have some patience."

"She's good with a bow, and swords," Glinton, Glimm's younger brother, added. He didn't add anything more after Glimmerick shot him a withering glare.

"I'm better, with bows," Glimm spat.

They reached the district square. "Good luck, Glimmie," Shimmer said gently, kissing her son on the cheek. "We'll see you in the Justice Building."

"Yes," said Glimmerick's father, stern. "This year's your last. If anyone challenges you, don't have any second thoughts about attacking to get your glory."

"Golderoy," Shimmer chided softly, the same way she had Glimmerick. "Lower your volume."

Glimmerick waved them his final goodbye, then went off to his age sector, Glinton going off to his. For the whole of the reaping he paid little to no attention until it came time for the names to be called, pleased that his mother had given him something to soothe the hangover from last night's celebrations. The street parties were all so huge and extravagant and so full of exquisite liquor, Glimmerick couldn't resist having some – and more – to drink. He could barely remember the night but for the dancing, the music, the women and the drinks.

Just then the crowd stopped, and Peacekeepers began to barge through. Glimmerick frowned, as confused as everyone else in the audience. Even the escort on stage had stopped.

"Where is Pearlita Monroe?" one demanded. The Capitol cameramen directed their lenses to the commotion, and Pearlita's confused and fearful face was projected onto the wide-screens.

"You have been charged for attempted murder," the Peacekeeper said. "You will be taken into custody to await your verdict."

Pearlita stared at them, her face frozen into a mask of shock. "E-Excuse me?" she stuttered. "I didn't do anything! I didn't try to kill anyone! This is a mistake!" But no one stopped to listen to her protests. The Peacekeepers grabbed her arms and hauled her off stage, one injecting her with some sort of serum to stop her struggling. She fell silent, along with the crowd.

Glimmerick didn't know what to think. Pearlita was his ex-girlfriend. And now she was being tried for attempted murder? No.

The on-stage escort cleared her throat, looking just as shaken as everyone else. "Well ... the show must go on," she said weakly. "Ladies first." She walked over to the girls' reaping bowl and pulled out a name, but the sound of her announcement wasn't as jubilant as it should be.

"Pearlita Monroe," she said. A ripple of mutters ran through the crowd, and then the expected voice called to volunteer. But when Diamond Cutter made her way onto the stage, anyone could see her confident grin was faked.

Once the escort was done introducing Diamond to the crowd, Glimmerick prepared himself, straightening his back and forcing his own confidence into his veins. Really, who cared about the girl hauled off into custody? All she was doing was distracting the crowd from Glimm's show. He bit back a smirk as he watched Diamond, thinking of all the ways he could kill her when the time came. Until then, though, he'd make sure they were the very _best _of friends.

"Platino Shine!" called the escort.

"I volunteer!" Leaving no time for pause, Glimmerick strode up to the stage, proud and pleased. He looked through the audience and spotted his father, nodding approval.

"And your name?" asked the escort, blatantly eyeing Glimm even as the cameras watched.

"Glimmerick Lockhart," he said. He met Diamond's eye and winked, but her own gaze was fleeting over him, focusing on one sole point in the crowd – her age sector, Glimm realized – with unbidden fury.

"District One, everybody!" the escort announced, hauling their hands high into the air. "And may the odds be _ever _in your favor!"

* * *

**DISTRICT 2**

* * *

Eclair twirled the tip of his sori on his fingertip, watching the glinting metal with almost fascination. He was sat on his porch outside, listening to the laughter of the rest of the kids his age. The faint sound of yells and clashing swords could be heard from the building at the end of the street, the training center.

A group of boys walked past and their way back from training. One caught Eclair's eye and turned to his friends, nudging them and pointing.

"Hey, it's Squinty!" one of them called.

"Squinty, my main man!" another jibed, laughing.

Eclair didn't look at them, his cheeks heating up with shame and embarrassment. When he didn't respond, the boys continued on their path, laughing jovially and clapping each other on the backs.

"See you later, Squints!" one yelled over his shoulder as they turned the corner.

Once they were gone Eclair dropped his sword, burying his face in his hands. He didn't understand how his parents could be proud of being so different.

The clock tower in the center of the district chimed one. There was still an hour to go before the reaping, but people were already beginning to leave the training center in masses. Among those leaving Eclair spotted the two tributes chosen to volunteer. He couldn't remember either of their names, but the girl wasn't hard to forget with her vivid, bright red hair.

Before anyone spotted him Eclair withdrew indoors, watching from a window. His parents were both out at work and were to return home in half an hour.

Eclair cherished his time home alone. His parents, while they loved him, never really listened to what he had to say. They were strict and were constantly pressuring Eclair to meet their extremely high standards. They'd never accept anything lower than the highest of grades, else they'd make him repeat the class. He had to be perfect. He had to be smart. He had to be proud. He hated it.

He remembered something his father had said that morning, about how the family had saved up enough money. What was it he'd said next? To ... "to move back overseas to the home of our ancestors", that was it. Eclair didn't even know if they'd be allowed to – unlikely – but he didn't want to leave. He couldn't. He was so proud of the learning curve he was on, and he had two best friends and a girlfriend that he didn't want to leave behind. He'd fought with his father that morning until the man had to leave for work, and after that he locked himself into his room and screamed into his pillow until his throat was raw.

The anger that Eclair had felt from the fight with his parents that morning resurfaced with the memories. He walked out and grabbed his sori, shoving it into his belt before storming off to the training center. While his parents weren't approving of the training that Eclair did in his spare time, it was one of the things they didn't stop. Eclair's guess was that they only let him continue because the weapon he had mastered was of Japanese descent, just like the family itself.

Eclair unsheathed the sori and marched towards the closest training dummy he saw, flying through the air and to deliver the first powerful blow. He continued, strike after strike after strike, spinning and moving gracefully around the dummy with undeniable talent. He dodged as he went, as if the dummy was fighting back. Maybe it would be, one day.

By the time Eclair stopped, sliding down the wall and resting his arms on his knees with sweat on his brow and panting uneven, heavy breaths, he was unsure of the time that had passed. He remembered there was a clock on the far wall and looked up. **1:**40, it read.

The boy cursed and got to his feet, grabbing his sori before rushing out and running home. He burst in through the door.

"Where have you been, Eclair?" his father said unhappily, as soon as he spotted his son.

"Out," Eclair replied shortly, still out of breath. He wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand and walked to his room, ignoring his parents and shutting the door.

The door reopened barely ten seconds later, revealing Eclair's mother. She was quieter and less pronounced than her husband, but she was still strict on her son and kept the rules enforced.

"Eclair," she said, coming over to sit by him on the bed, "don't tell me honestly you like it here."

Eclair's jaw clenched. "I do. I have friends and my girlfriend and —"

"Life will be better outside Panem, honey," she said, stroking his black hair. He scowled and shook her off.

"I don't want to leave, Mother! Go without me, if you're so desperate to get out. How do you know they'll even let you? How do you know you'll find anything but ruins?" He shook his head and stood up. "You can go, but I am _not _going with you."

He stormed out of the house and slammed the front door shut behind him, annoyed that he didn't even get a minutes' rest. Before it closed, he heard, "He doesn't have any choice. He's coming."

Furious teared sprung to Eclair's eyes as anger welled inside him. He sprinted down the street, running down lanes until he didn't even know where he was anymore. And as he ran, a vengeful idea began to formulate.

* * *

"One ..."

Riley tightened her grip on her sword, and smirked, getting ready to strike.

"Two —"

She flew at her opponent before he could get to three, catching him unawares. He retaliated just in time, stumbling back and throwing his sword up in self-defense. Riley hit it with a clang then spun around and sent a swing from the side before he could even register what was happening. He backed away quickly, before she could come at him again. His eyes darkened as he raised his sword. Riley saw the next move coming and jumped then ducked just in time to avoid the blow of the bladed weapon.

The next move she didn't anticipate; as she was coming back down from her jump her opponent withdrew a second sword from his belt. He came at her fast, spinning both swords skillfully in each hand. Angered, Riley struck at him with renewed strength and vigor. Even with his dual swords, her irritation overpowered him and a few minutes later he was on the floor, the tip of Riley's training sword pressed to his cheek.

"You don't surprise me like that," she hissed. "That was supposed to be a fair game. If you don't learn that lesson, child, you'll never be chosen for your own Games."

Once she was satisfied with the shame-faced expression her fifteen-year-old opponent showed she held out her hand, hauling him to his feet. She looked over to Lime, who nodded slowly and got to her feet.

"The surprise attack could be an advantage in a real fight, Riley," she informed. "But Mason, you need to be prepared for her surprise attacks, too."

Irritated, Riley snapped, "He's not supposed to flip that on me in basic training. It was a fair fight and he disregarded that." She shook her head and left, bored with training younger, aspiring tributes. She knew she was one of the best fighters in the district, but it didn't change the fact that she wanted an equal.

Riley let one of the knives she kept in her belt fly at a target on one of the far walls, giving a satisfied smirk when it hit bullseye. She continued with this, flinging her knives back and forth and even throwing her best weapon, a sickle sword, a few times.

"Come on, it's time to go," one of the trainers called. Riley stopped and looked around, wondering when she'd missed the sound of the one o'clock bell. Wasn't it just twelve?

Shrugging, Riley put her knives back where they belonged (inside her clothes) and sheathed her sword in her belt, even though she knew that once she was in the Justice Building they'd take it off her.

Everyone seemed to be coming up to her when they were leaving, blabbering along in excitement or encouragement. She just grinned, unable to help her own thrill running through her. It wouldn't be long now. She'd been waiting _eleven bloody years _for this. And now it had finally come.

Through the masses of people Riley met the eyes of her fellow volunteer, an eighteen-year-old named Marco. He looked just as excited as she felt.

She stopped by at her house along the way so she could quickly get changed and pretty herself up. She had to look good – she came from the best district in Panem and no one would forget it if she looked disgraceful on camera. Her mother had already laid out the dress Riley was to wear on her bed, so Riley just slipped that on then went to the mirror to do her hair and face. Once she was satisfied she left for the reaping, knowing her family would already be there waiting for her. Riley guessed it was now about one-thirty or one-forty, so she was doing well.

Another five minutes' walk and she was at the Justice Building. She went and found her family, staying with them for a little while after she had signed in. People kept coming up to congratulate her, or tell her they'd be betting on her to win these games. Riley couldn't help but feel confident and proud.

Soon enough, though, it was time for Riley to head to her age sector. She said goodbye to her parents, who wished her luck, then went with her friends to where the rest of the seventeen-year-old girls stood.

During the mayor's usual speech and the video of the uprising on the screens, Riley could hardly pay any attention. It was stuffy from all the bodies Riley was close to, but the cool of her knives hidden against her skin relieved her. "God, hurry up already," she muttered. The girl beside her snorted a laugh.

"Ladies first!" the escort chirped, clacking over to the name bowls in heels that looked as if they were on the verge of breaking. Riley imagined they'd be good weapons if it came down to it.

She took a deep breath and got ready, herself and the girls around her tensing in anticipation.

"Leed Hurley!"

"I volunteer!"

Smug and proud, Riley strutted up to the stage, pleased no one protested against her. In fact, she could've sworn she heard a few people clap.

The escort smiled warmly at Riley as she came up, not surprised but rather expecting the call to volunteer.

"Riley Sickle," Riley said, before the escort could ask. Just to show everyone how deadly she was, she pulled a knife from her bosom and twirled it on her fingertip, smirking. She felt quite pleased with herself.

After everyone was settled back down and Riley's formalities were over, the escort went back to the reaping bowls. Dug in her hand, clawed through the slips. Looking out at the gathered crowd, Riley saw the same tenseness there must've been for her, and her smirk widened. She waited for the escort's call and Marco's volunteering shout. But when it came, it wasn't the only one.

All eyes shot to the two eighteen-year-old boys, facing off in their age sector. Marco scoffed and even laughed a little when he saw who it was, turning away and beginning his walk to glory. "As if, Squinty," he said. "Keep dreaming. Maybe there are Games in Asia you could try out for."

The crowd laughed, but when Eclair launched himself on Marco it all stopped before it could even begin. The influx of Peacekeepers and Capitol officials, more prominent in 2 than in any of the other districts, didn't bother to step in and fight. Some must have appreciated the entertainment, especially for the television-watchers back in the Capitol.

Everything was silent but for Eclair and Marco's grunts and fists as they fought. Even Riley was enraptured. She'd had no doubts about Marco, but seeing Eclair's skill made her waver that tiny bit. Her eyes narrowed. Squinty couldn't win; she didn't know him like she knew Marco, whose every move she could predict. Squinty was a threat. And winners don't trust threats.

Eclair had Marco pinned under him, his fists working hard. Wherever his parents were, they made no move to stop or cheer for him.

A gasp rippled through the crowd when Marco pulled out his sword – a larger gasp rippled through the crowd when Eclair pulled out his. He pressed the tip to Marco's cheek and leant in to whisper words in his ear. Next thing anyone knew Marco was up and stumbling away, spitting blood and teeth from his mouth and glaring frighteningly harsh daggers at Eclair.

"Fine. You win," he snarled, "but you'll pay for this, Squinty. If it's not by dying in the Games, be sure I'll finish you off when you get back." Marco looked to Riley, who was still on stage. She didn't know what to think now that Marco had lost.

"Make sure he's dead before you are, Riles," he said. She nodded tersely, and then Marco was gone, Eclair was on the stage beside her, and the escort was holding her hand high in the air, shouting, "The volunteers of District Two!"

* * *

**DISTRICT 3**

* * *

Sloane rested her chin on her knees and looked out at the forest, her view slightly marred by the high chain-link fence that surrounded her district.

"I don't want you to, Sloane," her father murmured, shaking his head. "There's a twenty-three out of twenty-four chance that you'll be coming back to District Three in a coffin."

"I have to," Sloane replied, frowning. "You're ill."

"I'm not ill," her father said, but his words were contradicting by the harsh coughing fit that followed.

"You're ill," she said again. "The only way we could get enough money for you to get better is if I win this thing." She turned to him, pleading. "_Please_, Dad. This could be our big chance. And imagine Mother's face, watching on her District Two TV screen with her posh Head Peacekeeper _lover_, as her daughter wins the Forty-Third Hunger Games! She'll realize just what she missed out on." Sloane beamed at the thought, but the smile slowly fell from her face at the sight of her father's sober expression.

"I'm just worried," he said, then paused to cough heavily. Eventually he continued, "I'm just worried that you ... that you won't come back. I know you're capable," he said, before she could protest. "More than capable. You can run faster than a mockingjay can fly, you can fight. But against those brute Careers, and the strength of the Capitol ..."

"I'll be fine," she assured him. "I promise." They fell silent and continued to look out at the woods from their perch on the top of the hill. Eventually Sloane patted her father on the hand and got to her feet, waiting for him to stand with her. Together they walked to the district square, Sloane's father unable to go any faster than a steady slow. She didn't mind, as long as it suited him. As long as he wasn't feeling strained.

"Good luck, Sloane," her father whispered, pulling her into a hug with the one arm he had left, and she realized he was crying. Tears sprung to her eyes, too, but she shoved them back with the knowledge that people would be watching her.

"You'll be okay," she said. "I'll win for you and then you'll have even more reason to be proud of me."

"I'm sure you will," he said, forcing a smile. "I'll see you in the Justice Building."

* * *

Giovanni checked his face in the mirror, running a hand over the his slicked black hair, then kissed his mother's forehead and rushed out onto the street where he knew his girlfriend was waiting. "Come on, let's go," he said, unable to hold back his grin.

She laughed, taking his hand and pulling him up short when his pace was too fast for her. "What's got you so excited?" She shook her head. "I've never seen you like this! Are you sure you're my quiet, intelligent little Giovanni Valencia, and not some replacement from the Capitol? It's not the reaping, is it?"

Giovanni scoffed. "God no, no way." He nudged her shoulder. "And who's calling me little?" His face fell and he sunk back into his usual quietness as he added, "Wait, don't you remember?"

Thalia shook her head, confused. "Remember what?"

Giovanni looked at his feet, disappointed, and subtly freed his hand from her grip as they walked.

"Gio," she prodded. "What am I supposed to be remembering?"

"Our anniversary," he said, voice barely audible. Thalia was used his low tones from all the time they'd spent together, but nevertheless she had to strain her ears. "Three years today," he added, "and you forgot."

"Oh." It was her turn to look at her feet. "I'm sorry."

"I was going to take you out tonight," Giovanni said, "after the reaping was over."

"You still can!" Thalia said, taking his face in her hands. They'd reached the square by then, and were surrounded on all sides by families bidding their children goodbye and good luck. "You still can," she said again. "It's just ... I've had a lot on my mind." She looked at her hands and frowned, seeming to mull something over. Giovanni was confused, but he didn't speak.

"I'm pregnant, Gio," Thalia finally said.

Giovanni stared at her in shock; the world around him seemed to fall still. She had to be lying, this had to be a joke. No way could she be pregnant. But Gio was smarter than that, and he knew she was telling the truth. He remembered that night two weeks ago and berated himself for not thinking of some way to stop an outcome like this.

"Oh," was all he said. He shook his head, looked at his feet, mind haywire. He didn't know what to think, or say, so he shoved it away and bid Thalia farewell until after the reaping via a kiss on the forehead. He tried not to focus on the hurt in her expression, and the hand she rubbed over her belly.

_Pregnant!_And she announces it on the day of their (forgotten) anniversary? Giovanni frowned. She couldn't have had better timing.

Annoyed at himself for thinking like that, Gio distracted himself with thoughts of his latest invention. And then his thoughts drifted again.

He supposed if he married Thalia due to her pregnancy, he could shower their home with helpful household inventions to take the strain off both of them, especially once the baby arrived. Maybe he could invent something that would remind his girlfriend every time an important anniversary came around, so he wouldn't have to do it himself.

He made himself stop thinking about Thalia or inventions or the baby (or Thalia and inventions and the baby), and focused his attention on the reaping as it started. The mayor spoke his speech, the video of the Dark Days played so loudly Giovanni was sure his ears would ring later, and the escort stepped up to call the names of this year's tributes.

"I think we'll shake things up a bit this year," he said, his voice irritatingly high-pitched. "Boys first, shall we?" His change of plans made the audience stir, but everyone fell silent as he grabbed the first named slip and marched back to the microphone.

"Giovanni Valencia!" he called. "Giovanni, are you there?"

Frozen. That's what Giovanni was. Completely frozen – with fear, with shock, with grief. Distantly, as if Gio and his senses were detached entirely, he heard a scream and guessed it was Thalia's. He couldn't imagine what would be running through her head. He didn't even know what was running through his. For once, he couldn't think of a solution to the problem before him.

"Go," someone hissed, giving him a shove in the back. They startled him, but shook him back to reality enough to walk slowly and unsteadily to the stage.

The escort beamed at him, as if the world hadn't just fallen apart at their feet. "Hello, Giovanni!" he chirped, too brightly. "How old would you be?"

Gio didn't reply.

"Okay then ... The ladies' turn!" The escort went to the second bowl, beaming. Back to the microphone, reading the name —

"I volunteer!" A girl pushed through the crowd eagerly and the cameramen turned, the on-screen focus now her. "I volunteer."

"You volunteer?" echoed the escort, slightly surprised. "Oh. Alright then. Up you come!"

Giovanni recognized the volunteer; Sloane Overton, her name was. She was a year younger than him, and had flirted with him a couple of times at school. He'd turned her down each time, but that had hardly stirred her. She was beautiful and sexy and fit and flirty knew she could get what she wanted with a glance of those jade-green eyes. He couldn't help shaking the feeling that all that– the seduction and the flirting – wasn't as real as she made it seem.

Giovanni disliked her thoroughly.

"A volunteer from District Three! Do tell us, what _is _your name?" the escort asked.

"Sloane," she replied, flicking back some of her long auburn hair. "Overton."

"Confidence!" said the escort, impressed. "We may find ourselves a victor, this year."

It was blatantly obvious the escort wasn't talking about 3's male tribute. Gio resisted the urge to throttle the man, assuring himself that he'd show the stupid Capitol worker exactly what he was made of. Later.

Gio shook hands with Sloane, as was protocol, as the escort announced, "Giovanni Valencia and Sloane Overton of District Three! May the odds be /ever/ in your favour!"

And then the white-gloved hands of Peacekeepers were grabbing Gio's arms and hauling him through the doors of the Justice Building, Sloane close behind. The doors slammed shut behind them and District 3 disappeared behind white marble.

* * *

** w! Sorry for errors :3**

**2:45 now … falling … asleep … at keyboard … God, it isn't even that late. Shame on me.**

**By the way - District 1's shock at Pearlita's arrest occured because it was fake, and Diamond was shocked because she suggested it as a joke and her friend took said joke seriously and reported Pearlita to the Peacekeepers. So yes :).**


	3. REAPINGS - Part 2

**So sorry about how slow this has been … I'm slack! I did have a deadline for all the reapings (the end of the holidays), but I guess I got caught up, seeing as school's just restarted. Sorry! I'll try not to have as much of a delay next time.**

**I ran through the prologue and edited it because **_**no one told me it was terrible and I had to find out for myself**_**! Bad moment for me, that one.**

**Enjoy the chapter!**

**PS – if you haven't noticed, I changed my username. I am no longer xXjaziXx – I am village bicycle! Woo**

**I'm really sorry about the length of District 4's reaping. Hopefully it's not too long, haha. Sorry for the nerd stereotypes I mention in Zan's part! Also, the excerpts of Alexa's book in District 5's section are from Wikipedia, not from me. They aren't mine!**

* * *

**DISTRICT 4**

* * *

Zanther looked up at the clouded sky, heard the rumbling of the thunder. He could tell it was going to rain in a matter of minutes at the most, but he didn't go inside, didn't want to. He thought of his brother, whose ashes now swam with District 4's ocean, and he plowed one of his scythes into the swinging training dummy to distract himself.

Despite the wind that battered the dummy, which was strung on a rope between two trees, Zan managed to lodge the scythe into its chest. He peered around the other side and was satisfied to see the tip of the weapon poking out the back.

The courtyard of 4's training center was virtually empty, except for Zan and a few others. Everyone was inside, taking shelter from the oncoming storm, or already on their way to the Justice Building.

Volunteering in District 4 was different from how it went down in 1 and 2. There was a training center for children who wanted to prepare themselves, just like in the other two districts, but mostly the old warehouse was just for caution. So that if they were reaped, they'd be ready as they'd ever be. There were still volunteers that went if they were extra-willing, or if a child under 14 was reaped, in which case someone would always volunteer, but not every District 4 Career tribute chose that as their fate. Everyone agreed, though, that 4's system worked effectively.

Just like most other kids, Zan trained from a young age. But when his older brother Vorth got killed in the Games after a near-win – and insanity – Zan threw everything he had into his training. All of his anger, grief, pain and loss coalesced into the fierce burn he felt as he swung his weapons at whichever target he was striking.

"Zan," someone called. He looked over. It was Rika, an acquaintance of his who also pored much of her time into training. "Pretty much everyone's gone now," she said. Zan nodded to show that he was listening, and Rika continued, "I offered to close the place up before the reaping. Us and about four others are the only ones left, and I'm thinking of heading off, so ..."

"So can I leave, too," Zan finished for her. She nodded sheepishly and he sighed, going over to one of the weapon racks to place his scythes back where they belonged. The few other people who still remained in the building were doing the same, and the whole group left together, Rika dealing the place up behind.

Zan walked alone, as he did almost always – he was a fan of solitude – so was surprised when Rika came running up to his side. He looked at her, cocking the one dark eyebrow that was visible under his hair.

"I just thought I'd walk with you," she said, a bit breathlessly. "You looked lonely."

Zan snorted to himself. Lonely.

They walked in silence, Zan mainly unspeaking as usual and Rika awkward and at a loss for conversation starters. Eventually she said, "So ... are you going to volunteer this year?"

Zan thought for a few seconds. "Maybe," he replied, his voice soft. "Depends on the outcome of the draw."

Rika nodded. "Same," she said. "But there's another girl volunteering already. She's been training for this day practically since birth."

"Is that the girl who was raised by the trainers?" Zan asked. Rika nodded, and Zan said, "She's good. I've seen her."

Something flashed in Rika's eyes, but it was gone before Zan could identify it. "Everyone's seen her," she said, slightly stony. "She's not that special. It's just because she spends all her time there."

Zan gave a half-smile. "At least you can give her props for dedication."

"Mm," went Rika, after a pause. Zan couldn't fathom her sudden displeasure, when she seemed fine moments ago. Usually he was good at reading people, but this stumped him.

He frowned slightly, just a small crease 'tween his eyebrows, and asked her what was wrong.

She shrugged. "Nothing," she said, her gaze on her scuffing feet, but a minute or so later, she blurted, "Do you like her?"

"What?" Zan said, staring at her in confusion. "Who? Kalinna?"

"Yeah," Rika said, but now her voice was embarrassed and her cheeks were flushed red.

"No, I don't," he said. "We've never spoken. She's pretty, though," he added, trying to get a reaction out of Rika. She didn't say anything, and he guessed he'd upset her, so he laughed a little and told her that he was kidding. She just elbowed his side, grumbling intelligibly

Zan squinted up at the sky when a drop of rain landed on his nose. Then another came, and another. Zan looked at Rika to see if she'd noticed, but she was still looking red-faced at her shoes.

"Look, I've gotta head home," he said. "My family will be waiting. Besides – it's about to rain. You might want to get under cover soon."

"Yeah ..." she said weakly. "See you 'round."

* * *

Kalinna curled her lip, irritated at the slow pace and weak skill of her opponent. That she enjoyed winning was no question, but she preferred to _try_. And that was pathetic.

She tossed her swords to the floor in annoyance and stalked away, going to one of the trainers and shoving him roughly in the shoulder. His eyes snapped to her, blazing.

"You pair me up with that, Ryver?" she spat. "An _eleven-year-old_who can barely defend himself? I thought you wanted to challenge me. What challenge do I get from this but the challenge of holding back kill-blows?"

"Kala."

She scoffed. "Scolding me, are you? Come to think of it, I've never seen you challenge me yourself." Her voice turned cool, and she crossed her arms across her chest loosely, tilting her head to the side. "Why is that?"

While he could be infuriating, Kala couldn't deny Ryver's determination. The thought of denying Kala's challenge didn't even cross his mind.

"You're on, then," he said, and Kala's smirk became smug. She drew two new swords from the weapon racks, sheathing them in the scabbards in her belt. She watched him grab his best weapon from the wall; a flail.

"Might want to choose something other than just swords," Ryver commented. "If you want to win, that is."

Something sparked in Kala at his taunt, and the thrill of a fight ran through her bones and trickled down her spine like sweat. She drew her swords and launched herself at the trainer before he could so much as ready himself. He sprung back at the last second, dodging to the side and swinging his flail at her in one smooth arc. Kala blocked the blow with one of her swords, yanking the sword back before the flail's chain could tangle around her blade.

"Nice start, Steele," Ryver said breathlessly, but while his voice was wane his swing was lethal. Fast, Kala bent back until the tips of her hair brushed the ground, the flail swinging through the air her head just been occupying. She was up again as soon as it was out of her range.

A small audience had gathered around them. It only boosted her determination to win – the looks of admiration (and maybe a little bit of fear) on the faces of the younger, beginning trainees made her strive to impress. The youngest child currently training in District 4 was ten; when she'd started, she'd been six. Training was literally her whole life, all she remembered. The victors who came to help kids train were practically all she had as parents.

As the fight went on, Kala could tell Ryver was growing more and more annoyed. He was an accomplished fighter, and was used to quick, clean wins; Kala made him sweat, and it frustrated him. His irritation amused her.

They moved around each other like it was a dance, blocking and parrying and striking in time as if to a music only they could hear. Finally the fight ended with Kala raising her sword high into the air, the chain of Ryver's flail hitting then twirling around the blade until it was irretrievable. Kala used her other arm to have him on the floor with her second sword's tip pressed to his cheek in seconds.

They were both breathing heavily, but Ryver's pants were harsher than Kala's. She sheathed her swords once her victory was clear and let the trainer get to his feet.

"You win," he panted grudgingly. "I would challenge you to a rematch, but ..."

Kala just raised an eyebrow and stalked off, deciding that if there were no suitable opponents in the whole of her district she'd strike up a fight with a punching bag.

* * *

"Bye, Ma," Zan said. "Bye, Pa."

Zanther's mom kissed his cheek in farewell. His dad gave him a pat on the back and said, "We'll see you later, son."

Zan nodded and gave them each a small smile, then went to join his age group. He wasn't one to get impatient, but he'd arrived slightly early since his family lived close to the Justice Building and the walk to the square was short; waiting longer than ten minutes for the 'ceremony' to start began to get tiresome.

He crossed his arm and tapped his foot for so long that the muscles started to burn, and he waited.

Finally the mayor walked up, taking her place by the microphone. Anyone who was still speaking hushed – the reaping was beginning.

"Welcome," the mayor said, her voice booming out over the loudspeakers. "Welcome to the forty-eighth annual reaping ceremony. Today is a significant day for all of Panem, and has been since the district uprisings, also known as the Dark Days, where District Thirteen was obliterated and the Hunger Games henceforth began ..."

Zan stopped listening after a little while; he already knew all this. He'd practically hear the story every week in his lessons, when he still attended school. After fifteen, most students dropped out. The district schools never taught anything of importance after fifteen.

Only a few members of the audience were ever really attentive during the reaping speeches, and they were usually easy to spot: the ones with the heavily-framed glasses, or the snotty noses, or the hair so perfectly and tightly gelled back you could see traces of scalp.

_Finally_the escort took his place, speaking with that ridiculously-accented Capitol voice of his into the microphone. His mouth was too close, and the speakers screeched, nearly deafening the whole audience.

A Capitol engineer jogged onto the stage and murmured something into the escort's ear. The escort took a step back, cheeks red with embarrassment, and laughed nervously. This time the speakers didn't scream, so he started to speak, careful not to venture any closer to the microphone than he needed to. He didn't look like a fan of embarrassment.

"Men and women of District 4!" he said, regaining his composure. "What a lovely day it is – especially for such a lovely event!" Zan heard scoffing somewhere from behind him. The escort looked flustered, and skipped straight to the proceedings.

"We'll have the boys first, today!" he announced. He went over to the male reaping ball, and drew out the first slip of paper his fingers touched. He read it eagerly, then practically skipped back over to the microphone.

"Kai Atlanta!"

A boy walked up to the stage, and a murmuring ran through the crowd when they saw his age. He looked to be only twelve – which meant someone would be volunteering. The escort on stage waited for the audience to make their decision.

Zan stood by and watched as the boys around him talked and argued among each other. It was expected for one of their age sector to go up, but they had to decide on the best bet, and each one thought that they were it.

"Hey, wait," someone called. Eyes flicked over to the tall, blonde-haired guy who had spoken. Once he was sure of the group's attention, he looked at Zan. "You're good," he said, "you can fight. I've seen you with your scythes."

Zan blinked in surprise. "Me?" he said, lowly. "I –"

"Come on, guys, you know he's good," the blonde boy said. "He'd stand a chance. He could do well for us."

"Lots of us can fight," another guy said, in obvious irritation.

"Not enough to win this thing," the blonde boy countered. "But you –" he looked back to Zan – "you could actually do it. Please. Step up there."

Zan looked between everyone. All their eyes were on him. He looked at his feet, considering, then imagined the natural feel of his weapons in his hands. He looked up.

"Fine," he said, and walked up to the stage.

* * *

Kala watched the male volunteer with a raised eyebrow. The escort asked for the volunteer's name.

"Zanther Grimms," came the reply. The reaped boy, who now went unnoticed, quietly slipped off the stage and walked back to his age sector. The cameras didn't follow him.

The dim-witted escort asked Zanther a few questions, seeming excited, then moved onto the girls. This time when he slipped his hand into the reaping bowl, he fished through the paper, trying to find the perfect piece. Kala rolled her eyes. It wouldn't do much good, to find the perfect slip, when she would be stepping up to volunteer anyway.

Finally the escort found a slip he liked, and went back to the microphone. "Marina Clam," he called.

"_I volunteer!_" Kala yelled. "_I volunteer_."

No one seemed surprised at Kala's cry, and they cleared a path for her to walk through to reach the stage. The escort seemed even happier at the sight of Kala – with all her scars and the coldness of her face and readiness in her eyes – than he had at Zan. While Zan had a good build, wide-set shoulders and undeniable muscles, Kala's form was lither, more slender. Zan had strength, she had speed, and agility.

"What is your name, love?" asked the escort. Love?

"Kalinna Steele," she replied, holding back her contempt.

"Well, Kalinna Steele, it seems you're quite prepared," the escort said. "With you and Zanther here, District Four may well stand with good chances!" As was protocol, Kala and Zan shook hands, and the escort beamed out at the audience. "Kalinna Steele and Zanther Grimms, may the odds be _ever_ in your favour!" he declared. The district cheered.

* * *

**DISTRICT 5**

* * *

_Today, most electronic devices use semiconductor components to perform electron control. The study of semiconductor devices and related technology is considered a branch of solid state physics, whereas the design and construction of electronic circuits to solve practical problems come under electronics engineering. This article focuses on engineering aspects of electronics, and …_

"Alexa! Come on, honey, let's go. We're going to be late."

Alexa ignored her mother's call, unable - and not willing – to tear her eyes away from her book. She'd only just started it – couldn't her mother just let her get a bit further in before making her leave?

She continued to read.

_Vacuum tubes were one of the earliest electronic components. They dominated electronics until the 1950s. Since that time, solid state devices have all but completely taken over. Vacuum tubes are still used in some specialist applications such as high power RF amplifiers, cathode ray tubes, specialist audio equipment and some microwave devices._

"_Alexa!_"

Alexa slammed her book shut and threw it down, irritated that she'd had to close it. Couldn't anyone just let her be in peace, for _once_?

"I'm _coming_!" she yelled back, going to the mirror and fixing up her appearance – well, for her standards. In reality all she did was push her glasses back up her nose and put on some lip balm. Her messy, mousy-brown hair, tied loosely back, and her crumpled old clothes didn't deter her, or, in her eyes, look in need of tidying.

She walked out, arms crossed over her chest. Her mother came and kissed her on the forehead, although her hand on Alexa's shoulder was a little tighter than it should've been.

"Can't you get out of those books and electronics for once and get into the real world, dear?" Alexa's mother sighed. "Honestly, sweetheart, you've read more books than you've said words, and you're always going to that lab ..."

"I don't like people," Alexa replied shortly.

It was the same process every day – her mother would say, with a disappointed sigh, that she wanted Alexa to open up more, be more social; in return, Alexa would grumble or snap a pessimistic comment, and for the most part ignore her mother's pleas.

"Come on, let's go," said her father, from across the room, and then left the house with the clear assumption that Alexa and her mother would follow. They did.

He walked fast but Alexa didn't bother catching up, like her mother did. She didn't feel like interacting right now, especially not on such a sombre day as the reaping, and she knew all her parents would do was bug her.

She pulled out a jumble of wires from her pocket as she walked, weaving them deftly into an intricate pattern with her fingers. She made wire and circuit work look easy, the way she did it. A minute later she'd connected the wires to small lights she also had in her pocket, and they were flashing like Christmas fairylights. Not that they had Christmas in Panem – Alexa had only read about it. But the decorations sounded pretty.

Her parents turned the corner ahead of her, round the lab. Alexa was about to follow, but she couldn't help the temptation and she went inside. Her parents wouldn't notice she was gone until they reached the Justice Building, and by then she'd have caught up.

"Alexa! What are you doing here?"

She looked up and smiled at the old scientist who greeted her, Dr Clamps. He was one of the only people in District 5 that she actually liked.

"I was just stopping by before the reaping, sir," she said. She looked to her side to a table, with a large mechanism sitting atop it.

"What's this?" she asked, going over to it and running a finger along the metal. She examined the wiring inside it. It was extremely complicated.

"It's a robot," Dr Clamps said. He came over and pushed up the top of the contraption – it was a metal head. "I know we work with power and lighting and whatnot here, and I'm supposed to be keeping the TVs and cameras running for the reaping, right now, but … just _look_at it. Isn't it wonderful? It could be the beginning of a whole new era for Panem. Robots as servants. Can you imagine that? I haven't got it working just yet, but I'm nearly there."

"... Wow," Alexa said. "Is this allowed?"

"I'm not sure ... but there are no rules against it, at least." He sighed and chuckled, his eyes full of wonder and fascination as they stared at his work. After a minute or so he shook himself and turned to her, checking the time from the clock on the wall. "Run along, now," he said. "You have a reaping to get to and I have a country's power to manage."

She smiled again. "Sure thing, sir. I'll see you soon."

* * *

"Does my butt look big in this?"

"Yes," Chord said bluntly, then groaned and let his head fall back, hitting the wall. "Now can we go, please, May?"

His friends all agreed. May had been trying to find something to wear for the past hour. Even the girls had gotten tired of it.

"We're already late," Seb said. He cast a scolding glare to Chord as he said, "Your butt does not look big, May. You look fine."

Chord scoffed under his breath and rolled his eyes. "'Was just being honest ..." he muttered. "Besides, what guy doesn't like a good butt –"

Seb hit him in the arm, and Chord shut up.

"Fine, let's go," May said, either ignoring or not hearing Chord. "But if I end up going on that stage and my butt looks like a monster, I'll get you, Seb."

"What about everyone else?!" he exclaimed, throwing his arms up. "Why can't you get them?"

The group departed May's house thankfully. They were all talking amongst themselves, but someone asked a question with a voice that rose over them all. "Should we split off and meet with our parents soon?" they said.

Chord's jaw clenched. The thought didn't exactly appeal to him, but he didn't mention it.

One of Chord's closest friends, Current, looked over, seeming to be able to tell what Chord was thinking. Only Current knew about Chord's dad.

"Me and Le'Ron will go on ahead," Current said, smiling at everybody else. "You guys do what you want."

Grateful, Chord followed his friend as they continued to the Justice Building, not stopping for their families as had been suggested.

"You alright, mate?" Current asked, nudging Chord with his shoulder.

"Fine," Chord replied.

"You know ... if you don't want to stay at home, you can always come live with me for a bit. Not permanently, obviously, but ... Mom wouldn't mind."

"No," Chord said strongly. He shook his head. "I can handle it, alright?"

Current looked at his feet and didn't speak. They finished their trip to the reaping in silence.

* * *

Alexa crossed her arms and tapped her foot, already waiting in her age sector. She was early. She hated being early. She didn't exactly have any friends to go _frolic_with, and she didn't exactly want any either – all the kids her age from District 5 annoyed her – but it wasn't like being early was any fun.

She watched everyone around her with an eyebrow raised. No one came up to start conversation and she was happier that way. In her head, she thought about circuits and lights and electricity and power and what Dr Clamps was doing back in the lab. She wished she was there with him. He would've been tired, being so old and working so hard. Other people worked there and helped, but he did most of the work.

"Attention, attention!"

Alexa blinked and looked up to the stage, surprised. The reaping was already starting. She must've zoned out for longer than she'd expected.

Within a minute or so she got bored again and drifted off back to her thoughts, only looking up again when the fat old mayor tripped on his chair and broke his ankle and had to be carted offstage by Peacekeepers. She couldn't imagine the humiliation he must be feeling. All of Panem would've seen.

The usual escort stepped up and cut right to the chase, wasting no time in drawing out the first name. A tense silence held within the crowd, as if every person there were holding their breath. Maybe they were.

"Alexa Sparksmith!"

Alexa froze where she stood, her crossed arms dropping to her sides. She felt weak. Memories of the brutal and bloody past Games filled her head and she trembled with fear.

Whispers began to surmount around her, while she remained frozen. She thought of her parents. Her district. The people in it. She realized numbly that if she left, no one would really miss her. Except maybe her parents, but she guessed they'd get over it in a week or so.

She recrossed her arms, forced the negativity from her head, took a deep breath and walked up to the stage.

* * *

Chord watched the girl walk up to stand beside the escort and felt pity, as he did every year for the chosen tributes. Nothing could be done for her now, not with no one willing to volunteer. He recognized her, vaguely; she was always going down to the labs and helping out. She was smart.

The escort introduced her, asked her a few questions, and then moved onto the draw for the boys. Chord was tense.

Face shining with pink-tinted glitter, the escort looked bored as she called out the next name. "Chord Le'Ron." She looked up, and through the audience. "Chord Le'Ron?"

Stunned, Chord stared at the escort, unsure if he'd heard right. His friends stared at him in equal shock.

The thought of his dad crossed Chord's mind, and a hope built in the back of his head. Maybe, by going through these Games, he could show his dad that he wasn't an accident, or a murderer. That he was a good kid. That he cared.

Maybe then his father would stop looking at him with eyes full of shame. Maybe then the smell of liquor on his breath would come to pass.

Chord forced himself to walk up to the stage, his spirits lifting. He could do this. As he was shaking the girl tribute's hand, he looked through the crowd to see his father. But when he found him, his heart sunk. He had to look away from the dead, uncaring eyes that he was met with.

* * *

**DISTRICT 6**

* * *

"Does it work?"

Gaso looked from side to side, checking that no one else was around, then turned back to his friends, Petro and Hark. They watched intently.

"Make sure nobody's coming," Gaso said lowly, grabbing the red and the green wires and tying them together before moving on and making sure everything else was perfectly in place.

"Alright, you two go," he hissed. "Back fifteen or so meters and you should be fine. The petrol's in check, Hark?"

"Yeah, it's good."

"Good."

Petro and Hark backed off as Gaso had instructed and grinned at each other, both thrilled. Gaso made some final adjustments before lighting a match and letting the small flame catch on the trail of petrol they had set up. It travelled fast; he got up and sprinted away as fast as he could without waiting to see the outcome.

"Come on, run!" he yelled to Petro and Hark. They followed, fast on their feet. When they reached the end of the long street they stopped and turned back; a second later, the first house blew sky-high. The flames from the explosion caught onto the petrol around the other houses, and in seconds nearly the whole street was ablaze.

"Peacekeepers won't know what hit 'em," Gaso muttered, giving a dark half-grin. "Let's go. We'll be late for the reaping."

They sprinted off as fast as they could, down hidden back alleys, to escape capture.

* * *

"Ashton, _stop_," Tigress giggled weakly, pushing her palms against her boyfriend's chest as he pressed sloppy kisses to her neck. "We have to go."

"Mm, we still have time," he mumbled against her skin, but she wouldn't have it and shoved him away. He sat and watched her, pouting childishly.

"Stop it, Ashton," she scolded, pulling off her shirt and pants and replacing them with a dress for the reaping. She went to the mirror, running a comb through her hair then staring at her reflection. "Today's my big day. Do I wear my hair up or down?"

He looked at her, contemplating, then said, "Down. But pull the front bits back."

She nodded and did just that as Ashton said, "Are you sure you want to go through with this, Star? You don't have to."

Tigress gave an exasperated huff. "I'm am, Ashton. Alright? I'm eighteen – I know what I'm doing." She rolled her eyes. "I'm ready for it. Besides, it'll be a great surprise for Mother and Papa. They'll be so proud when I win."

Ashton was still skeptical, but he knew she would never listen so he kept his mouth shut.

Finally she grabbed his hand and dragged him along with her, down the streets to the Justice Building. At once she was flocked by friends, and Ashton disappeared in the crowd. She didn't mind. She'd see him in the Justice Building later, anyway.

Tigress made a joke, and all her friends laughed.

"Come on, let's get signed in," she said once they'd settled down, getting in line. All of her friends gathered around with her, making the previously orderly line turn into one jumbled mess. Tigress seized the opportunity to push forward, through the gaps in the masses, so she was right up the front.

"I hate signing in," a friend complained, sulking. "I hate needles. And blood. And this is a combo of both."

Tigress scoffed. "Toughen up! Imagine being a tribute in the Games and having a fear of blood." They all laughed again, that one friend, Secca, forcing a weak grin but still looking nauseous at the sight of the sign-in table.

Fifteen minutes later Tigress was waiting impatiently in the section for eighteen-year-old girls, ignoring her friends' conversations. She couldn't wait to see their faces when she volunteered, she was thinking. She hadn't told them yet – she wanted to surprise them. Oh, imagine Secca's reaction! She'd be mortified. Tigress grinned with excitement and tried to refrain herself from bouncing.

* * *

Standing innocently in his age sector, Gaso watched the Peacekeepers with a grin of his own on his face. They were frantic.

"The Head Peacekeeper will kill every single one of us when she finds out," one said, biting his nails with worry.

"We're dead, done for," came another.

"We could rebuild the street, use some metal from the car factories —"

"Are you insane? If we stole anything from the factories we'd _really_be dead! Besides, how are we supposed to build a whole street before the reaping is over? We can't!"

"We're going to be turned into Avox!" one cried.

Gaso laughed and nudged Hark's side with his elbow. "Look at them," he snorted. "They should've seen it coming."

"How are they supposed to suspect we'll blow up a whole street?" Hark laughed. "So naïve."

"Imagine blowing up one of the factories," Gaso said, awestruck. "It would be incredible!"

"Whoa." Hark nodded, imagining the picture himself. "We should do it. After the reaping."

"It's a plan." They shook hands, both grinning hugely.

Petro was back with the fourteen-year-olds, since he was just younger than Gaso and Hark and his own fifteenth birthday hadn't come around yet, so he missed out on their deliberations.

"Attention, attention!"

Gaso looked up to the stage and rolled his eyes at the escort's outfit for this year. She looked like a giant, stuffed pumpkin. He shook his head and looked away, unable to be bothered with the reaping. He couldn't get his mind off the brilliance of the blast down the Peacekeepers' street. Imagine really blowing up one of the factories, or the Victors' Village, or the whole Justice Building! They'd blown up a quarter of it once, which turned the district into a riot, and they nearly got caught. If they'd left the scene one second later, they'd be tongueless.

"Oi, pay attention," Hark hissed, elbowing Gaso in the side. "She's about to call out the girl. Wonder if it's someone we know."

"Wonder if it's your little _crush_, you mean," Gaso teased. "_Tigress, Tigress, I love you so much! Marry me, Tigress!_" he mocked in an exaggeratedly high-pitched voice.

Hark's cheeks were red. "Shut up, Gaz!" He paused, then mumbled, "And I do _not_speak like that ..."

"Fusa Mirako!" the escort called, catching Gaso and Hark's attentions. Hark looked relieved.

Hark said, "I heard Tigress was going to volunteer. Thank god she —"

"I volunteer as tribute!"

In a millisecond, Hark went pale and rigid. A collective gasp came from Tigress's age sector, and the camera zoomed in on her parents for a moment. Their faces were frozen in shock and incomprehension. Then the camera snapped to Tigress, who was positively beaming as she skipped up to the stage.

"A volunteer from District 6! Why, that _is_a pleasant surprise!" the escort said jubilantly. "What's your name, dear?"

"Tigress Star," Tigress said confidently. "I'm eighteen and I'm going to win these Games!" There was a beat of silence, and then the whole crowd cheered with such fervor that Gaso's ears pounded.

"Confidence! We love confidence back in the Capitol, we do." The escort looked very pleased to have a worthwhile tribute from 6. "But now, we must get to the boy!"

Gaso leaned over to Hark and whispered a joke. A small smile twitched at the corner of Hark's lips.

The escort trotted over to the reaping bowl in her high-heeled shoes and grabbed the first piece of paper she touched. She let the suspense and tenseness gather before finally calling the name.

"Gaso Sedax!"

Gaso had been focused on trying to cheer up his solemn friend; now he was the one who was in desperate need of cheering. His smile faltered and he stared at the escort in shock. A second later he realized the cameras were on him and regained himself, forcing a fake grin onto his face and straightening his back. He walked up to the stage with feigned confidence, and hoped the onlookers fell for it.

"More confidence from our boy here! Seems like a good year for District 6!" crowed the escort. The crowd cheered. Gaso felt sick. He didn't want to look for his parents, didn't want to see their faces. He didn't want to look at Petro or Hark or any one of his other multitude of friends, in case his façade of confidence faltered. He knew he'd have time in the Justice Building to vent his swirling emotions.

He hardly took notice of Tigress's hand as she shook his. She was beaming. He forced his own grin back. The escort grabbed his hand and hauled it into the air. Her next words sounded faint and distant, like a memory of a dream.

"Gaso Sedax and Tigeress Star, the tributes of District 6!"

* * *

**Again, sorry at how long this took! Funny how for most people school is what delays the story-writing – for me it spurs me on. Hmm.**

**Well, I hope you enjoyed! I'd love to see what you guys think of the characters, and your bets on how they'll do in the arena!**

**Make sure to review, and hopefully an update will come around soon. A full tribute list is in the first chapter, and I'm in need of a District 11 boy, if there's someone who hasn't submitted a character and wants to. PM me for the form and any details you want to know. I'm not really keen on having a person with more than one tribute in the story, but if you really want to submit again, go ahead.**

**Next up: Districts 7, 8, and 9!**


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